Going Back is Not An Option
by sincerelymendacious
Summary: A mysterious stranger walks into Milka's life on what has to be the worst day she's ever experienced. Tw: Animal Death Tw: Animal Murder TW: Child abuse Tw: Kidnapping
1. Chapter 1

This is a fic I wrote live on the discord server. It's been cleaned up but it's still a lot different stylistically from what I usually write, and there might be a lot of errors since...I didn't really intend to write a fic yet.

The origin of this distressing piece was a an Elton/Milka storyline in which the two are separated from each other for a decade, both of them going their own paths but never forgetting the other. If you want to find out more, please join the psychowhatsits discord server, where I post all my miserable nonsense, or leave a comment requesting more information.

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Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Milka. Milka had a cat she named Shadow and they were the best of friends. Shadow was old and wise, and he always knew where she was when she was invisible. He was always there for her to talk to when she needed someone, and sometimes when she didn't need to talk at all.

But one day, Shadow grew sick. He had a feline illness of some sort. Degenerative, incurable. The veterinarian Mom took him too said that he had a kidney disease that caused him to suffer greatly. The vet said he did not have much longer to live, and recommended euthanizing him. Mom, who loved Shadow just as much as Milka did, could not bring herself to do it. "He's a tough old bastard," Mom said, more to herself than Milka. "He'll pull through."

But Shadow was not going to pull through, and he knew this. He told her that he was done with this world, and wanted to escape his pain. Milka loved Shadow, and was determined to help ease his way out, even at great emotional cost to herself. Milka waited until Mom was at work, keeping herself invisible until she left. Then she gently scooped the distressingly light Shadow up into her arms (no need for a cage) and made her way to the vet's office. She vanished them both and sneaked onto a bus heading that way.

When she arrived at the office, she immediately signed in and waited. The receptionist allowed her to do it because she assumed that her parents would eventually walk through the door, but after 5 minutes, she grew concerned and asked Milka where her mom was. "At work," Milka replied tersely. She was not one for words to begin with, and certainly was no conversationalist while her cat was in agony in her arms.

"Oh dear." The receptionist told her that she needed to have a parent with her, and to please come back with Mom later.

Milka told her that she didn't want anything fancy done- she just wanted the vet to kill her cat so that he could rest in peace. "We were here a few days ago," Milka said, setting her face into an emotionless mask and swallowing back her tears- getting hysterical would not do her nor Shadow any good- "Dr. Irvin even said we should do it, but my mom wussed out."

The receptionist did not know what to say. Luckily, Dr. Irvin was nearby, and she was able to call him over. He said the same thing as the receptionist, his eyes sympathetic.

"You know this kind of thing...it costs money."

"I have money," Milka said, and it was true. She had 32 whole cents in her pocket.

She promised to pay him after the procedure was done, but he still refused. "Fine then," she spat out, before promptly departing the office.

Dr. Irvin went out after her, but she and her cat were both gone- vanished into thin air!

"Now what?" Milka wondered. She could not allow Shadow to keep suffering like this- she could practically feel how much pain he was in with every ragged breath he took- but she couldn't just throw him into the street and wait for a car to run him over! She had a knife at home- a few of them, actually- but could she really do the job herself? "I have to. Nobody else has the guts to do it."

So she went back home and got her nicest, sharpest knife- the one she had pocketed from their neighbor- and then went to the kitchen to end her friend's pain. She paused before laying him onto the floor, thinking that the setting was all wrong. Shadow agreed. The maple in the park he thought to her. It was where he'd been born, 14 years ago.

Milka nodded and took him there. It was not far away, and she set herself down between the roots, her back against the tree. She sat there, invisible, with Shadow in her lap, for some time just petting his still soft black fur and bracing herself for what she had to do.

"Hello."

The voice startled her. She looked up, and was surprised to see an older woman with silvery gray hair pulled back in a bun and gray suit staring down at...her? No, it couldn't be, she was invisible.

"I can see you," the Gray Lady said, smiling in a way that deepened the crows feet at the corners of her eyes. "And that knife you're holding over that poor animal." She pointed over to a spot next to her. "May I sit? "Milka nodded, suspecting that this strange lady would not take no for an answer anyway. "You're going to kill that cat." The Gray lady said as she sat herself down. It was not a question.

"You gonna stop me?" Milka asked, re-appearing and bringing the knife up just a tad. She didn't want this woman getting any funny ideas.

"Not exactly," The Gray Lady replied, shaking her head. "I'm just wondering how you're going to go about doing it, that's all."

That was an admittedly good question. Milka shrugged, her stomach twisting into knots. "I don't know. Whatever's the least painful for him."

The Gray Lady nodded "A cut across the throat would be your best bet," she said, her tone matter of fact. "You'd have to make a clean cut though. If you miss the artery you'll just cause him more pain." She reached her hand out, her index finger extended. "May I demonstrate?"

The Gray Lady seemed to know what she was talking about, so Milka gave her the go ahead. She leaned forward and drew her finger gently across the line of Shadow's throat. "That's where you want to draw the blade. He'll bleed out before he feels a lot of pain."

"Thanks for the tip."

"No problem. But really, this is a messy way to do it," the Gray Lady said, eyeing Milka with amusement. They could have been talking about a picture Milka was planning on painting.

"I already tried the vet and he said they wouldn't kill him with drugs. It's my only option."

"Hmm, not necessarily," the Gray Lady said. She looked at Milka expectantly, a glint in her eye."There's another, better way."

Milka made an impatient noise. "Well spit it out already. This cat wants to be dead."

The Gray Lady reached out and gently took Milka's hand in her own. "How good are you at Psi-blasting?" she asked.

"I'm okay, I guess." Milka said, narrowing her eyes. "But I'm not going to blast him to death."

"No, you aren't," The Gray Lady said, drawing Milka's hand over Shadow's head. "I want you to channel your psi-blast energy into your right hand. Don't worry about putting too much in, I'll channel the excess away from him."

"What's that gonna do?" Milka said warily. "I don't want his head to explode."

"It won't. It'll administer enough of a shock to shut his brain off, like a switch. He'll feel no pain, I promise." The Gray Lady's smile did not diminish as she spoke of extinguishing Shadow's life. "Say your final goodbyes, and then, when you're ready, activate your psi-blast and concentrate that energy in your hand."

Milka decided that she had nothing to lose, and that if the Gray Lady was wrong, well, she'd just kill her too. Milka leaned forward and gave Shadow one final kiss and scratch on the chin. "Goodbye, Shadow. I'll see you when I see you."

I'll be waiting for you.

Then Milka did as the Gray Lady told her. She closed her eyes and brought all of her aggressive energy to her head, and then shoved it all down her arm. It was not a comfortable sensation- it burned weirdly- but she endured it The energy went to her hand and then, with a jolt, to Shadow's head. He twitched once, and then went limp, all the pain and tension leaving his body in an instant.

Just like that he was gone, gone forever. Never would he bump his head against her's or approach her with his tail sticking up in the air, bent at the tip. She would never find him relaxing on her bed when she came home from a long day at school or out on the streets. It hit her like a fist to the face. Her lips tightened, but the sobs that wanted to escape were too strong for them, and they crashed through like a battering ram at the gates. She began to cry, great heaving sobs racking her chest. Tears streamed down her face in an unstoppable flood. Her body felt frozen, arms stiff and heavy at her sides. She could not even bring them up to cover her wet face.

The Gray Lady pulled her close, her hand running through Milka's hair soothingly. She said nothing, because there was nothing to be said that could make this loss any less devastating. She just let Milka cry, without giving any signs of impatience or irritation. It was strange. Nobody had ever let Milka just...cry before. Was this what it was like to have a mother?

Eventually, the tears dried up, and Milka lapsed into a numb silence. She stared out at the small pond before them. Right now it was pretty and blue, the light from the sun glimmering off of it. An absurd feeling of peace came over her- she was glad that Shadow's last moments had been spent in such a pretty place.

The Gray Lady let her sit there quietly for a few minutes more before removing her arm from Milka's shoulder. "We have to go see your mom."

Had she not been so exhausted she probably would have questioned this. She rose, Shadow's body still in her arms. "Why...why are my shorts all wet?" she said, noticing a wet patch on the fabric.

"The body expels upon death," the Gray Lady answered. "Just be glad it was only piss."

They walked out of the park and headed towards a sleek looking Lexus parallel parked by the curb. "Is that your car?" Milka asked.

"Whose else?"

"You're lucky it didn't get stolen."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." The Gray Lady walked over to the trunk of the car and opened a suitcase inside of it, taking out a pair of jeans and a folded blanket. "Here," she said as one of the back doors opened on its own. "Wrap your cat in this and put these on." Milka obeyed mechanically, gently swaddling Shadow's corpse in the blue, faded blanket. She tucked him the backseat before getting in herself. The Gray Lady waited outside of the car as Milka changed into the jeans provided for her. The jeans fit perfectly. Huh, Milka thought as the Gray Lady got into the driver's seat. That's weird. Why did this woman, who was a complete stranger to her, happen to have a pair of jeans that were just her size?

The car began moving. Milka leaned forward, noticing a tear in the knee. "These are mine," she said, slipping her finger into the frayed hole.

"Yes," the Gray Lady replied.

"Why do you have my jeans in your trunk?" Milka asked, her gaze switching over to the blue blanket Shadow was wrapped in. "That's my blanket, too. Or one of them anyway." She looked up, her eyes meeting the Gray Lady's in the rear-view mirror. They were, unsurprisingly, gray. "Why do you have that? Why did you have my jeans?"

The Gray Lady didn't answer her. "What are you going to tell your mother?"

Milka narrowed her eyes. "The truth."

The Gray Lady laughed at that. It annoyed Milka, hearing someone laugh at a time like this. But she supposed that she had to be grateful to this strange woman- she had made Shadow's end a lot easier.

They rode the rest of way to Milka's home in silence, though Milka wanted to know how the Gray Lady had known where she lived. They proceeded up to Milka's third-floor apartment in much the same manner, with Milka cradling Shadow's body like he was a baby. He was still so limp- shouldn't he have stiffened up by now, she wondered.

"Rigor mortis doesn't set in until hours after death," The Gray Lady said as they walked down the hallway Milka lived on.

Milka looked up at the lady and sniffed, her nose still stuffed. "You know a lot about dead things."

"That I do," The Gray Lady said before knocking on Milka's door.

"Oh, there you are," Mom said when she saw Milka standing outside of the door. It was what Mom always said whenever Milka came home or reappeared after spending a long period of time invisible. Mom turned to look at the Gray Lady, not all surprised to see her there. "Where did you find her?"

"At the park."

"Oh."

The Gray Lady gave Milka an encouraging pat on the back as they entered the living room. "Show your mother what you've been up to."

Milka did, unwrapping the blanket just enough so that Shadow's face was exposed.

Mom became hysterical upon seeing Shadow's lifeless body. "What did you do?" she asked, tearing her hand through her hair. "Milka, what the hell did you do?" She backed away until she hit the couch.

Milka frowned. "I..." she looked up at the Gray Lady, who nodded at her the way a parent would to a child up to bat at a baseball game. "I did what needed to be done."

Mom sank down shakily onto the arm of the couch. "Oh God," she said, her trembling hand coming to her mouth. "You killed the fucking cat."

Milka swallowed tightly. "Yeah. I did." She clutched what she had done to her chest. "I killed him. I killed Shadow." It felt strange, saying the words out loud. It hadn't felt real until this moment, like her confession made it so.

"Jesus Christ," mom muttered, running one hand through her hair, and then the other. "Why did you go and do a thing like that?"

Was Mom seriously asking a question that dumb? " I didn't do it for fun," Milka said, frowning. The whole experience had been downright miserable, but she'd had to do it- it was her responsibility to her dearest friend in the world. "He was in pain. He wanted to go."

Mom tucked her chin into her chest, whispering something too low for Milka to hear. Then she looked up at the Gray Lady. "You see? That's the kind of stuff psychopaths do." She shook her head, an unhinged laugh escaping her lips. "I can't handle that. I told them I couldn't handle that."

Milka flinched. Her mother had called her many things in the past, but psychopath had never been one of them, and for some reason it felt like a much heavier condemnation of her character than anything else her mother had ever said about her. "I'm not a psychopath," she muttered, bending her face forward into the blanket. She could feel Shadow's body in it, but it offered her little comfort.

The Gray Lady seemed unperturbed. "Do you want to take care of the corpse, or shall we handle it?" she asked.

What do you mean by we? Milka thought, side-eyeing the Gray Lady. What was this woman doing here? Why did she have Milka's things in her car, and why did it seem like Mom had talked to her before?

"Yes. No. God, fuck. I don't know." Mom pressed her face into her hands, her fingers clawing inward at her face.

"Hm. Milka, go put Shadow on the table there," The Gray Lady said, pointing over at the coffee table. "Make sure you keep his body in the blanket."

Milka glared at the Gray Lady, who stared back at her impassively. "What's going on?" she demanded to know.

The Gray Lady shrugged. "You've already said your goodbyes. Give your mother a chance to do so as well."

That was not what Milka had meant, but she obeyed the order anyway, doubting that the Gray Lady would give her further information otherwise. She moved the coasters and cups off of the table with telekinesis and set Shadow's shrouded body delicately in the center of it. He looks like he's on display at a funeral, she thought.

She heard footsteps and turned to see the Gray Lady standing in front of Mom. "Get him cremated," she was saying, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a folded stack of bills, a one-hundred at the front. "There's no place to bury him in this city."

Mom accepted the money, her movements sluggish. "And the rest of it?" she asked.

"It'll be in your bank account by tomorrow."

"Oh." Mom then turned her attention to Milka. For a moment, they both just stared at one another. Sometimes they did that- Mom was never one for physical or verbal affection, but on the days when her mood was good she'd look at Milka with something akin to love in her eyes. Not this time- this time there was nothing but weary contempt. Milka tried to school her expression into a matching one and wasn't sure if she was successful. "You," Mom said, pointing an accusatory finger at her, "you're going with her."

Milka felt something like lead drop into the pit of her stomach. "What?"

"You heard me." The 'you little monster' went unsaid, and yet heard by all in the room. "I clearly have no chance of raising you right. Maybe this lady'll have better luck."

Milka's mouth dropped open in shock. She looked at her mom, and then at the Gray Lady, and finally, back at Shadow. She wished with all of her heart that he could rise from the dead and give her some advice, or some words of comfort, but no, he couldn't. He was dead and gone and she'd never hear anything from him until she joined him in whatever place the dead went. "Why?" she asked, unable to think of anything better to say.

Mom let out another bark of laughter, the sound more bitter than any Warhead she'd ever eaten. "Why? What do you mean why?" She shook her head, her shoulders shaking with an unidentifiable emotion. "Don't make me say it, kid."

Milka had half a mind to demand that she do so. She was so sick of her mother's cowardice- she'd had to take care of Shadow because of it, and apparently it was forcing her out of her own home. But she didn't, because deep down, she was as afraid of what Mom had to say as Mom was of saying it, and Milka had used up all of her courage sending Shadow to his final resting place.

She turned her attention to the Gray Lady instead. "I'm not going with you," she declared, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes you are," Mom said sternly, like she was telling Milka to eat her green beans or else. "Your stuff's already packed."

"I don't care, I'll get new stuff." She planted her feet, glaring at the Gray Lady as though that alone would cause her to disintegrate out of existence. "If you want me to go with you, you'll have to catch me."

The Gray Lady shrugged. "Alright."

Milka vanished, and then darted around the coffee table. She heard her Mom scream "Goddamnit!" as she passed the back of the couch and ran toward the hall that led to her room. Her plan was to jump out the window over her bed and levitate down to the street. From there she'd hide out in Knoxville's various alleys until Mom and The Gray Lady both gave up on finding her.

Her plan failed, for her door shut with a slam just as she was about to cross the threshold, hitting her in the face. Her body was then forcibly dragged down the hall and back to the living room by the same telekinetic force that had closed the door. An electric shock hit her brain, forcing her to reappear as she was dumped unceremoniously back to the floor.

The Gray Lady grasped her arm before she could even attempt to run off again. "I've caught you," she said plainly, the only sign of triumph on her face the slight raising of a fine, gray eyebrow.

Milka squirmed and struggled, but it did her no good. The Gray Lady's grip was like iron. She cast one desperate look back to Mom."Mom, please," she begged, pulling away from the Gray Lady so hard that it felt like her arm would pop out of its socket, "don't let her take me away! Don't...don't!"

The begging didn't do her any good either. Mom looked away, and then rose and left the living room, her eyes on her feet as she walked away from her daughter for what seemed like for good.

The Gray Lady held onto her all the while. "I could do this all night," she said. The statement was only that- a statement, and not any sort of boast. "Go ahead and tire yourself out. It'll just make things easier for me."

That did it. Milka knew that she was probably going to end up losing this battle, but she had zero intention of making anything easier for this...person who had walked into the worst day of her life and somehow made it even more horrible. She let out a ferocious snarl as she opened her mouth and bit down on the flesh of the Gray Lady's hand.

The Gray Lady was not impressed by this move. "Are you finished?" she said, her expression not altering one bit even as Milka's teeth penetrated through her skin. The metallic taste of blood was on Milka's tongue, and yet the woman spoke as though Milka were only a toddler having a tantrum at the grocery store. It was enough to make her feel foolish. Milka slowly opened her mouth and released the Gray Lady's hand, the fight having gone out of her. She swallowed, the blood sliding down her throat, and swiped her tongue over her teeth to clean the red off.

The gray lady raised her hand, examining the blood and bite marks like she was planning to grade Milka on them. "Very good," she said, taking that same hand and lightly touching it to the side of Milka's head. The sensation was as light as a butterfly alighting. And then everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

When Milka awoke, some unknown amount of time later, she found herself strapped into a chair. Not tightly or uncomfortably; the strap was only across her waist, and her arms and legs were able to move freely. The strap looked like a normal seat belt, but Milka knew that she was not in a car. The room she was in was too spacious, though she thought that she must be in a vehicle of some kind, since she felt the sensation of moving towards an unknown destination.

Across from her, the Gray Lady sat in a weird, curved chair that hovered above the floor. Milka had never seen a chair that could float, and when she twisted herself to observe her seat, she realized that she was in a similar one. She bounced herself a little, and the chair bobbed with her movements.

The Gray Lady did not seem to notice Milka's awakening, or if she did, she apparently didn't think it worth her attention. Her suit jacket was off, hung on the back of her chair. Milka was surprised that her blouse was not gray, but a deep blue, though the stripes running up it vertically were a light silver. She was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, a slim paperback book propped on her knee. The cover read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, and featured a two little boys on the cover. "That's my book," Milka said sharply, noticing the crease in the upper left corner.

The Gray Lady looked up, not surprised to see that Milka had regained consciousness. "It is," she confirmed.

Milka snatched the book away from her with one hard telekinetic tug, bringing it swiftly into her hands. She grasped the book by the covers and tore it in half, and then continued to shred the papers up into increasingly small pieces, the feel of them ripping under her fingers a satisfying one.

The Gray Lady regarded this display impassively. She picked up a different book from the table next to her and resumed the position she'd held before Milka had interrupted her, the title of it made up of a seemingly random assortment of letters. Milka realized that destroying her own possessions probably hadn't been the smartest way to thumb her nose at her kidnapper. Embarrassment flooded through her, and she vanished herself before the heat rising in her face could be spotted.

Being invisible gave Milka an immediate feeling of reassurance, though she doubted that it would prevent the Gray Lady from knowing where she was or what she was doing. She brushed the tattered remains of what had once been her favorite book off of her lap and took a moment to assess her surroundings. The room she was in appeared to be designed with personal comfort in mind, with a throw-pillow laden couch in addition to the floating chairs to sit on, and plenty of books and magazines for one to occupy oneself with. There was even a monitor attached to the wall, the screen black at the moment. Compartments lined both sides of the room above the seats. Milka opened one up with telekinesis and discovered her cheap little green back-pack inside of it alongside an unfamiliar suitcase. She closed it, not wanting to risk destroying anymore of her things.

On either end of the room were closed doors. Opening the door at the back revealed a small room with a toilet and sink; the door at the front was locked. There were little round windows evenly spaced down the length of the room, all of them covered. Milka lifted the shade of the one closest to her and was dismayed to learn that she was thousands of feet up in the air. "We're on a plane," Milka said, annoyed. Being up this high was going to make escape much more difficult.

"We are," the Gray Lady replied without looking up from her book.

"Where are you taking me?" Milka demanded to know. "Tell the truth."

"New Mexico," the Gray Lady answered.

Milka thought back to the puzzle of the United States she'd done at school, pinpointing New Mexico's location in her head. "Why are you taking me there?" she asked.

The Gray Lady turned a page. "Because that is where I live."

Milka asked no further questions, mulling over the information she had collected. New Mexico was really far from Tennessee, but not as far as the camp she'd been sent away to over the summer; the one where she had met the love of her life. And also gotten her brain stolen._ I made it back home from there,_ she thought, looking out the window at the misty clouds as the plane passed them by._ I can make it back from New Mexico, if I have to._

Her best course of action would be to jump off the plane before it even landed. There would be less distance for her to trek on her way home, and the Gray Lady wouldn't be able to chase her down as easily if she had to figure out where Milka had wound up on the ground. Cautiously, she pressed her thumb to the belt's buckle, half-expecting it to have some kind of lock on it to prevent her from getting up. It did not, and the strap receded with a hiss, releasing her from the chair she'd been sitting in for what could have been hours. She slid off her seat, letting her stiff legs stretch a bit before touching her feet to the floor. Still incorporeal, she glanced around the cabin, noting that there was a third door between her seat and the bathroom._ Well, good_, she thought, _I won't have to squeeze through one of those tiny windows._

Now all she needed was a parachute. But where to find one? Milka had never been on a plane before, and she had no idea where they were stored. The Gray Lady probably knew, but Milka strongly doubted that she would tell her where they were. _Or maybe she would. She did help me kill Shadow._

Either way, she wasn't in the mood to talk to a weird, kidnapping old-lady, so she began the search on her own, starting with the compartments. Most of them were empty, which made sense, since there were only two passengers aboard the plane- maybe three if the as-of-yet unseen pilot was counted. One contained her luggage, and she doubted that there were any parachutes in there. The one above the Gray Lady contained an overnight bag and a slim metal briefcase with a picture of a brain on it. Milka cast one look at the Gray Lady, expecting her to protest Milka's actions (it was what Mom would have done). When none came, she pulled both the suitcase and the bag down to the floor. The bag contained a spare set of clothing and some toiletries. The suitcase had a combination lock. Milka fiddled with it for a bit before deciding that there probably wasn't a parachute in it, because who would want to fool around with a combination if the plane was crashing? The Gray Lady seemed to be many things to Milka, but stupid definitely was not one of them.

A thorough search of the cabin yielded nothing useful. If there were parachutes on the plane, then they weren't in the compartments, or in the big cabinet near the back-end of the room, or under the table and floating chairs. Milka would have settled for a big tarp, or something similar that she could have used to float down to the ground, but there wasn't anything like that either. _What the heck_, Milka thought as she crawled out from underneath the cabinet. _What are we supposed to do if the plane crashes?_

Her answer came in the form of a large sticker plastered to the door that led out of the plane, which had gone unnoticed in her haste to find a parachute. It was split into two panels. In the first, a stickman with a perfectly round head was positioned as though about to jump from the plane. The second one featured that same stickman free-falling with their arm stretched upward, and a large, black-outlined circle above his head. Milka guessed that the big circle was supposed to be his levitation ball, which implied that she was expected to use hers to descend to safety in the event of an emergency. Being kidnapped by a crazy Gray Lady was certainly an emergency if anything was, but could Milka depend on her levitation to get her out of this plane without accidentally killing herself? The only thing she'd done in the one levitation class she'd attended was stare at what's his face (Crispin?)back when she'd liked him, and she doubted that halfheartedly shuffling back and forth on a ball prepared her in any way for levitating thousands of feet downward. It appeared that she would have to wait until they landed in New Mexico to escape after all.

Frustration raked through her the way that Shadow would (used to) sharpen his claws against the wooden door frame back home. With a growl, she snatched the sticker and tore it off of the door, leaving only the upper left corner behind. After that she went wild, the indignity of being thwarted fueling her outburst. She knocked all of the books and magazine off of the tables with one telekinetic sweep, after which she attempted to overturn the tables themselves(which she could not do, since it was bolted to the floor). Then she kicked the cabinet open and emptied it of all of its contents, scattering packaged snacks and drinks all over the place. A water bottle rolled close to her foot and she gleefully jumped up and down on it, water spraying everywhere when the cap flew off. She nabbed a pillow off the couch and promptly sank her teeth into it, grunting and shaking her head back and forth like a rabid dog. Her teeth were not strong enough to tear the pillow itself, so she bit into one of the tassels at the corner instead and ripped it clean off, the red threads catching between her incisors. She spat the tassel out and threw the pillow upward at the ceiling where it hit the light with a smack.

Her next destination was the bathroom, where she had every intention of flooding the cabin. Unfortunately, there wasn't any water in the toilet (_what the hell?_) and the sink didn't have any knobs; it could only be turned on by putting a hand under the faucet, and the water stopped running on its own. She settled instead for unraveling all of the toilet paper (like how Shadow did- used to do- when he was feeling frisky) and draping it all over the place, on the toilet, the sink, and even over her own shoulders. There was more toilet paper to be found in the cabinet under the sink, so she took both rolls and hurled them out of the bathroom, directly at her captor, the loose paper at the ends making the rolls look like absorbent comets. Neither projectile hit, though one got close- a force as invisible as herself seemed to block the roll from hitting its target.

She could not stop now. Anger, frustration and grief burned within her, making her clench her fists into tight balls and gnash her teeth so hard that she thought they might crack. The urge to flail about wildly, to scream out loud, to release the emotions coiled up within her banished all logical thoughts from her mind. She began running up and down the aisle of the cabin, toilet paper flying off of her she ran pointlessly from one end to the other. No effort was made to be quiet; quite the opposite in fact. Her feet stomped on the floor as heavily as she could make them, turning the bags of chips and packages of crackers in her path to crumbs as she trod upon them. Occasional screeches of sound burst from her mouth, scrapping raw against her throat as they departed. Each time she met the door leading into the cockpit she barraged it violently with her fists, hitting the steel door hard enough to hurt. "Open up!" she screamed, before rushing off to the opposite side of the room. The pilot never did.

At no point during the rampage did the Gray Lady attempt to intervene. The most she did was look up from her book and regard Milka with a strangely warm expression, like she doing something cute instead of running around madly and howling like an infuriated cat._ She must be nuts_, Milka thought as she barreled towards the cockpit. _Mom would have thrown me off the plane by now._ Thinking of Mom gave Milka a feeling that was like a punch to the stomach, and when she reached the door she sent a succession of kicks into it.

Eventually, running from one side of the plane to the other became boring and tiresome. Milka decided that her time would be better spent getting to know her enemy. "So what's your name, lady?" she demanded as she came to a halt in front of her, only slightly out of breath.

The Gray Lady told her to call her Ole.

"That's not your real name," Milka said, knowing a non-answer when she heard it.

"It's part of it," the Gray Lady replied airily.

"Tell me the whole thing, then."

The corner of the Gray Lady's mouth went upward. "You wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

"Try me,"Milka challenged.

The Gray Lady did. Milka subsequently decided that just going with Ole was better than struggling with that mess of consonants. "Okay, Ole. I'm going to kill you if you don't make the pilot turn this plane around and take me back home."

To Milka's disgust, Ole's eyes began to glitter with amusement. "And just how would you go about doing that?"

She wasn't taking Milka seriously, which was thoroughly irritating. "I can't just tell you. You'd stop me."

"Yes, I suppose I would." She paused, her lips twitching like they were trying to prevent a noise from escaping, a noise that Milka suspected was a laugh. "Tell me this, at least. How do you know there's another person in the plane?"

Milka scrunched her eyebrows towards each other. "Someone's gotta be flying this thing," she replied, though doubt crept into her voice.

"That's a good point," Ole said, leaning back in her weird, hovering chair and inclining her head towards the door. "And this person piloting the plane, they would logically be in there, wouldn't they?"

"...yeah." Milka did not like the way Ole was speaking to her. It made her feel like there was some vital fact she was missing.

"Have you been in there?" Ole asked, turning back to her.

"You know I haven't." Milka thought for a moment, then straightened her shoulders. "But I could get in if I had to. I'd figure it out."

"I'm sure you could. Let's say that you did manage to kill me and get into the cockpit." The possibility of this did not appear to intimidate Ole in any way. "What do you say to the pilot?"

"I tell him that I just killed you and that he better take me back to Knoxville or he'll be next."

Ole threw her head back and laughed like Milka had just told her the most clever joke in the world. It exposed her pale throat, and Milka mentally drew a line across it, the same way that Ole had done with her finger on Shadow's. "And you think he'll just do that?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Milka stared at Ole levelly. "Because I bet he doesn't stand much chance against me if I got you.

"Ha, very flattering," Ole said. "But you don't know that for certain." The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the room beyond. "Why don't you go say hello and take his measure." The chair in front of the controls was high-backed, blocking any view that Milka had of the person inside of it.

Milka walked into the room and then walked back out approximately fifteen seconds later. "There's no one in there," she reported, scowling.

"No, there isn't. The plane is on an automated path," Ole said, a smile on her face.

"You could have told me that," Milka said, her expression dangerously close to a pout.

"And spoil the surprise?"

Ole's eyes sparkled with humor, their gray-blue shade reminiscent of the pond Milka had killed Shadow at. They crinkled at the edges, deepening the lines at the corners of them. There were many lines on Ole's face- on her brow, at the sides of her mouth- which, coupled with her gray hair, made the woman look old. But Milka recalled her moving around like a much younger person, with her gait strong and her back straight; not at all like an old lady. "How old are you?" Milka asked, curious.

"Sixty-eight," Ole answered.

"Hm. What's a sixty-eight year old lady doing kidnapping kids?" Milka would have thought that someone her age would have long outgrown such behavior.

Ole shrugged as though she did not know, though Milka was quite certain that she did. "I would like to hear your theory, if you have one."

"The last guy who kidnapped me stole my brain." Milka's hand flew to her nose, her fingers pinching her nostrils shut. "He got me the last time cuz I didn't know what was up, but-" she paused to take a breath- "now I do. So don't even try it." She snarled the words out as menacingly as she could, but her nasally tone detracted from the threat more than a little.

Ole nodded, the smile lingering on her face making Milka glare even harder up at her. "Yes, I'm sure you'll keep that brain of yours where it belongs from here on out. But there's no need for you to worry about me stealing your brain, since I'm content with the one that I have."

Milka unpinched her nose but didn't let her guard down. "The Psychonauts came and busted the guy who snatched me and all the other kids up," she warned, in case Ole was not aware of it.

"Did they now?"

"Yeah, tossed him right out of a window," Milka said, thumbing back at the row of round windows behind her.

"That sounds like something we would do," Ole said, sounding almost as though she were fondly recalling a past event.

"What do you mean we?" Milka said, raising an eyebrow. "You're not a Psychonaut, are you?"

"No, not anymore," Ole said, shaking her head. "But I used to be."

Denial was quick to jump on Milka's tongue, but after thinking it over Milka decided that it actually made perfect sense. "The guy my kidnapper worked for was also a Psychonaut, so that doesn't make you good. You're still a kidnapper."

"Am I?" Ole said lightly. "Who says?"

There it was again- that questioning tone that made Milka doubt the thoughts she had regarded as fact only a moment before. "I say it," Milka said, pointing accusingly at Ole. "You took me away, even though I said I didn't want to go with you. That's kidnapping."

Ole tapped her chin thoughtfully, though her eyes still held that humorous glint, leading Milka to think that her words had not prompted any sort of reflection on her actions. "In that sense, I suppose I did kidnap you."

"What other sense is there?" Milka huffed, putting her hands on her hips.

"The legal one," Ole replied, turning her gaze over to the briefcase still laying where Milka had left it. The briefcase, formerly flat on the floor, smoothly lifted itself up so that the picture of the brain faced Milka. "You've seen this image before?" Milka nodded- it had been all over the place at camp. "Do you know what it is?"

Milka did, but she did not see what it had to do with anything. "I told you, I don't care that you used to be a Psychonaut or whatever. You kidnapped me, and I hate you, and I'm going to hate you forever even after I escape!"

She was close to screeching by the time she finished speaking, her face twisted with anger. Ole was unfazed, continuing on with her point conversationally. "You should care. The Psychonauts are the reason why you're here." The suitcase fell back onto the floor, landing with a thump. "The incident this summer at that camp- the one you mentioned earlier- made the Heads over at the Motherlobe very nervous. They decided that the recruits living in less stable conditions should be removed to more secure locations." Ole waved her hand at Milka, the movement oddly graceful. "The Lesser-Head herself asked me to take you in. She believed that I would make a better guardian than your mother."

Milka did not care what the 'Lesser-Head' of the Psychonauts thought, and she told Ole this. "She's a dumb ho," Milka said, the declaration having the unintended consequence of making Ole laugh. "I don't want to be here, and I don't want to live with you! I want to go back home to Sh-" She nearly said Shadow's name before remembering that there was no returning to her departed friend- at least, not in this world. "I want to go back to my mom," she finished, swallowing back the grief before it could rise forth.

"Your mother does not want you back," Ole said calmly.

The statement should not have produced any sort of emotional reaction within her. It wasn't like she didn't know it already- if Mom hadn't wanted Ole to take her, then she would have at least attempted to stop it from happening, instead of walking out of the room. And yet, hearing it said aloud froze the breath in her lungs. The truth was like a knife, sinking between her ribs and into her heart. "No…" Milka whispered, clutching at her t-shirt. It was less a denial and more the whimper of a wounded animal.

Ole continued, twisting the knife. "Your mother relinquished all of her parental rights and gave me full custody of you, and was gifted a large sum of money in return for her cooperation." She gestured over at the briefcase. "All of the legal documentation is in there, if you would like to see it."

Milka did not want to see those documents, did not want to see how she'd been bought and sold in sterile black print. What she wanted was to release all of the awful, painful emotions rolling around in her like storm clouds. So she did- with a high, guttural scream, she allowed a blast of pure rage to burst forth from her head, right at the person she despised most in the world, the person who represented every horrible thing that had happened to her over the past twenty-four hours.

The Psi-blast boomed like thunder and crackled like lightning, more powerful than any that had come before it. It hit against an invisible wall, was absorbed in a pale blue light for the briefest of seconds, and then rocketed right back to its source before Milka could even think to dodge it. She was unprepared for the blow, and it threw her back into the floating chair she'd awoken in, her head smacking against the armrest the moment before she crumpled to the ground.

For a while, Milka remained in that spot, gasping for breath, her stomach feeling as though someone had pressed a hot poker into it and the back of her head throbbing. She attempted to rise up onto her elbows, but couldn't quite manage it and fell onto her back. Her hands flew to her stomach, where she half-expected to feel a hole going right through her like in a cartoon. There was a hole, but it was only on her shirt, though the skin there was red and stung painfully when touched. Tears snuck out of the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks, but she was too disoriented to wipe them away, or to feel the humiliation of being taken out by her own shot.

After a full minute of groaning and writhing in an agonized heap, she heard the soft tap of Ole's sensible flats touching the floor. Two long strides across the aisle and then Ole was there, kneeling over Milka and looking directly into her eyes. Bare traces of sympathy haunted the edges of her expression, but the words she spoke next were hard. "I am now your legal guardian, and you will be living with me until the Psychonauts allow you to join their internship program. That means that we will be spending anywhere from three to seven years with each other." Milka swiped up at Ole's face but her aim was so off that Ole didn't even have to flinch to avoid it. It would have been less pathetic to have just stayed still. "How you react to this is up to you, but those are the facts. There is no going back to your old life."

"It's not fair," Milka croaked, her voice tight.

The old woman didn't counter the assessment. Instead she brought her right hand over Milka's burning stomach, hovering just over the bare skin. Milka felt something like a shock pulse through her, and then her pain disappeared. A compartment clicked open before her suitcase was placed in the space next to her. The big pocket containing all of her clothes was open, presumably so that she could change out of her damaged shirt into another one.

After that Ole went back to her chair and book. But Milka remained where she was, flat on her back and squinting up at the fluorescent lighting. She did not move for the rest of the ride.


End file.
